Voices. Even in her frenzy, Scarlett wished she had Melanie with

her, Melly with her quiet voice, Melly who was so brave the day she

shot the Yankee. Melly was worth three of the others. Melly--what

had Melly said? Oh, yes, the baby!

Clutching the wallet to her, Scarlett ran across the hall to the

room where little Beau was sleeping in the low cradle. She

snatched him up into her arms and he awoke, waving small fists and

slobbering sleepily.

She heard Suellen crying: "Come on, Carreen! Come on! We've got

enough. Oh, Sister, hurry!" There were wild squealings, indignant

gruntings in the back yard and, running to the widow, Scarlett saw

Mammy waddling hurriedly across the cotton field with a struggling

young pig under each arm. Behind her was Pork also carrying two

pigs and pushing Gerald before him. Gerald was stumping across the

furrows, waving his cane.

Leaning out of the window Scarlett yelled: "Get the sow, Dilcey!

Make Prissy drive her out. You can chase her across the fields!"

Dilcey looked up, her bronzed face harassed. In her apron was a

pile of silver tableware. She pointed under the house.

"The sow done bit Prissy and got her penned up unner the house."

"Good for the sow," thought Scarlett. She hurried back into her

room and hastily gathered from their hiding place the bracelets,

brooch, miniature and cup she had found on the dead Yankee. But

where to hide them? It was awkward, carrying little Beau in one

arm and the wallet and the trinkets in the other. She started to

lay him on the bed.

He set up a wail at leaving her arms and a welcome thought came to

her. What better hiding place could there be than a baby's diaper?

She quickly turned him over, pulled up his dress and thrust the

wallet down the diaper next to his backside. He yelled louder at

this treatment and she hastily tightened the triangular garment

about his threshing legs.

"Now," she thought, drawing a deep breath, "now for the swamp!"

Tucking him screaming under one arm and clutching the jewelry to

her with the other, she raced into the upstairs hall. Suddenly her

rapid steps paused, fright weakening her knees. How silent the

house was! How dreadfully still! Had they all gone off and left

her? Hadn't anyone waited for her? She hadn't meant for them to

leave her here alone. These days anything could happen to a lone

woman and with the Yankees coming--

She jumped as a slight noise sounded and, turning quickly, saw

crouched by the banisters her forgotten son, his eyes enormous with

terror. He tried to speak but his throat only worked silently.

"Get up, Wade Hampton," she commanded swiftly. "Get up and walk.

Mother can't carry you now."

He ran to her, like a small frightened animal, and clutching her

wide skirt, buried his face in it. She could feel his small hands

groping through the folds for her legs. She started down the

stairs, each step hampered by Wade's dragging hands and she said

fiercely: "Turn me loose, Wade! Turn me loose and walk!" But the

child only clung the closer.

As she reached the landing, the whole lower floor leaped up at her.

All the homely, well-loved articles of furniture seemed to whisper:

"Good-by! Good-by!" A sob rose in her throat. There was the open

door of the office where Ellen had labored so diligently and she

could glimpse a corner of the old secretary. There was the dining

room, with chairs pushed awry and food still on the plates. There

on the floor were the rag rugs Ellen had dyed and woven herself.

And there was the old portrait of Grandma Robillard, with bosoms

half bared, hair piled high and nostrils cut so deeply as to give

her face a perpetual well-bred sneer. Everything which had been

part of her earliest memories, everything bound up with the deepest

roots in her: "Good-by! Good-by, Scarlett O'Hara!"

The Yankees would burn it all--all!

This was her last view of home, her last view except what she might

see from the cover of the woods or the swamp, the tall chimneys

wrapped in smoke, the roof crashing in flame.

"I can't leave you," she thought and her teeth chattered with fear.

"I can't leave you. Pa wouldn't leave you. He told them they'd

have to burn you over his head. Then, they'll burn you over my

head for I can't leave you either. You're all I've got left."

With the decision, some of her fear fell away and there remained

only a congealed feeling in her breast, as if all hope and fear had

frozen. As she stood there, she heard from the avenue the sound of

many horses' feet, the jingle of bridle bits and sabers rattling in

scabbards and a harsh voice crying a command: "Dismount!" Swiftly

she bent to the child beside her and her voice was urgent but oddly

gentle.

"Turn me loose, Wade, honey! You run down the stairs quick and

through the back yard toward the swamp. Mammy will be there and

Aunt Melly. Run quickly, darling, and don't be afraid."

At the change in her tone, the boy looked up and Scarlett was

appalled at the look in his eyes, like a baby rabbit in a trap.

"Oh, Mother of God!" she prayed. "Don't let him have a convulsion!

Not--not before the Yankees. They mustn't know we are afraid."

And, as the child only gripped her skirt the tighter, she said

clearly: "Be a little man, Wade. They're only a passel of damn

Yankees!"

And she went down the steps to meet them.

Sherman was marching through Georgia, from Atlanta to the sea.

Behind him lay the smoking ruins of Atlanta to which the torch had

been set as the blue army tramped out. Before him lay three

hundred miles of territory virtually undefended save by a few state

militia and the old men and young boys of the Home Guard.

Here lay the fertile state, dotted with plantations, sheltering the

women and children, the very old and the negroes. In a swath

eighty miles wide the Yankees were looting and burning. There were

hundreds of homes in flames, hundreds of homes resounding with

their footsteps. But, to Scarlett, watching the bluecoats pour

into the front hall, it was not a countrywide affair. It was

entirely personal, a malicious action aimed directly at her and

hers.

She stood at the foot of the stairs, the baby in her arms, Wade

pressed tightly against her, his head hidden in her skirts as the

Yankees swarmed through the house, pushing roughly past her up the

stairs, dragging furniture onto the front porch, running bayonets

and knives into upholstery and digging inside for concealed

valuables. Upstairs they were ripping open mattresses and feather

beds until the air in the hall was thick with feathers that floated

softly down on her head. Impotent rage quelled what little fear

was left in her heart as she stood helpless while they plundered

and stole and ruined.

The sergeant in charge was a bow-legged, grizzled little man with a

large wad of tobacco in his cheek. He reached Scarlett before any

of his men and, spitting freely on the floor and her skirts, said

briefly:

"Lemme have what you got in yore hand, lady."

She had forgotten the trinkets she had intended to hide and, with a

sneer which she hoped was as eloquent as that pictured on Grandma

Robillard's face, she flung the articles to the floor and almost

enjoyed the rapacious scramble that ensued.

"I'll trouble you for thet ring and them earbobs."

Scarlett tucked the baby more securely under her arm so that he

hung face downward, crimson and screaming, and removed the garnet

earrings which had been Gerald's wedding present to Ellen. Then

she stripped off the large sapphire solitaire which Charles had

given her as an engagement ring.

"Don't throw um. Hand um to me," said the sergeant, putting out

his hands. "Them bastards got enough already. What else have you

got?" His eyes went over her basque sharply.

For a moment Scarlett went faint, already feeling rough hands

thrusting themselves into her bosom, fumbling at her garters.

"That is all, but I suppose it is customary to strip your victims?"

"Oh, I'll take your word," said the sergeant good-naturedly,

spitting again as he turned away. Scarlett righted the baby and

tried to soothe him, holding her hand over the place on the diaper

where the wallet was hidden, thanking God that Melanie had a baby

and that baby had a diaper.

Upstairs she could hear heavy boots trampling, the protesting

screech of furniture pulled across the floor, the crashing of china

and mirrors, the curses when nothing of value appeared. From the

yard came loud cries: "Head um off! Don't let um get away!" and

the despairing squawks of the hens and quacking and honking of the

ducks and geese. A pang went through her as she heard an agonized

squealing which was suddenly stilled by a pistol shot and she knew

that the sow was dead. Damn Prissy! She had run off and left her.